


The Dancing Princesses

by copperleaves



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperleaves/pseuds/copperleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TV Ep. Title Challenge, bonus #7 - "Doppelgangland." A retelling of "The 12 Dancing Princesses" starring the team. Mostly just fun and sweetness, but not completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Upon a Time

  
**Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.**  
-C.S. Lewis

"Tell it again, Daddy, tell it again!" the little boy demanded, his round face beaming with excitement.

"Again? Don't you think it's bedtime?"

"Not yet, Daddy! Just one more time!"

The father smiled indulgently and pulled his small son closer. "Very well, but just once more. Then bed."

"Then bed, promise!" he agreed eagerly.

The father paused as though trying to remember the story his son so urgently requested. "Ah, I've got it. Once upon a time in a faraway land—"

"Daddy!" the boy said, trying to stifle his giggles. "It happened right here!"

"Well, yes," the father agreed reasonably, "you know that and I know that, but other people don t. And isn't this how all the stories are supposed to start?"

The little face scrunched thoughtfully. "I guess so," he decided at last.

"Right, then. Shall I tell it, or is it bedtime?"

"Tell it!"

"As you wish, young prince." He cleared his throat dramatically and began again. "Once upon a time in a faraway land (though we all know it wasn't very far away at all), there lived four beautiful princesses..."

———

"Prince Morgan, welcome! We are so pleased to have you. We assume you're here to seek the hand of one of our lovely daughters?"

The tall, well-built young man bowed, his cocoa-colored eyes brightening as he smiled. "Your Majesty honors her humble servant," he replied in a tone that implied more self-satisfied assurance than humility. "It is my privilege to accept the challenge you've offered. I will discover where your daughters are going every night, and how they manage to evade your sharp-eyed guards."

The queen raised a brow; regarded the man before her with some skepticism. "Many men have made similar claims, young Morgan. No one has succeeded."

"Yet, gracious Majesty; no one has yet succeeded."

She conceded his point with a slight incline of her blond, perfectly coifed head. "Very well. I suppose you would like to meet my daughters?"

He bowed again. "As her Majesty wishes."

This man was scandalously arrogant, but somehow charming in spite of it. In the queen's experience, though, arrogance was the last thing one needed to win this particular challenge. "Follow me," she said at last.

The two set off through the palace's winding maze of corridors, and she spoke to him over her shoulder. "You know the rules, I presume?"

He nodded shortly. "The lady princesses are dancing through their slippers every night, despite being locked into their rooms. My job is to discover where they're going and how they're getting past the locked door. If I do so to your Majesty's satisfaction within three nights, I may choose one of the lovely young ladies as my bride."

Satisfied, she quickened her pace. "This is my daughters' room," she announced grandly. They had stopped before an elaborately carved door with an intricate lock. "Since my husband the king's untimely passing, I've been forced to be...protective...of my girls. Many men would seek to take advantage of an eligible young princess."

"The world is full of scoundrels, your Majesty," he agreed gravely.

"Of which you, of course, are not one," she replied archly.

He bowed his head. "Never, Majesty."

"Hhmm," she replied. Without further ado, she pushed the door open to reveal an elegantly appointed room. Since it was shared by four young women, however, it wasn't the neatest space he had ever beheld. Clothing, books, shoes, hairbrushes, and various other feminine accoutrements were scattered hither and yon. One woman, a pretty blond, was sitting at a vanity combing her long, golden hair. When she caught sight of her mother and the prince, she slowly turned from the mirror and rose.

"Mother," she said in an elegant, cultured voice, "I see you've brought another intrepid adventurer."

"Don't be glib, Jennifer; it's unbecoming. Where are your sisters?"

"Here, Mother," a low-pitched female voice said. "As ever, we're all here."

The queen rolled her eyes in exasperation, but she couldn't help a small smile of pride as her four daughters gathered for the prince's inspection. "My lovely daughters," she told him graciously, "Emily, Elle, Penelope, and Jennifer."

He eyed them all thoroughly, taking careful note of which name went with which face. Emily was the eldest; tall, graceful, with nearly black hair and equally dark eyes, she had looks to match the intriguing voice he'd just heard. Elle was next, also a brunette, but with exotic features and full, pouting lips. Penelope was third, and her outfit made him smile: bright red skirt, blindingly yellow blouse, and a large flower tucked into her blond ringlets. Jennifer, the youngest, was probably also the most traditionally lovely, with dark blue eyes and a sweet, heart-shaped face. He couldn't go wrong with any of the four, and his mouth curved in a delighted smile as he contemplated his bright, bright future.

"Ever felt like a cow at market?" Elle asked her elder sister from the corner of her mouth.

Emily had to stifle a laugh lest their mother notice. She poked her sister in the back in an attempt to quiet her. "He'll be easy," she muttered. "He thinks he has this in the bag."

"My favorite kind," Elle murmured back.

"Doesn't stand a chance," Penelope agreed with an evil little grin.

———

Bright and early three mornings later the queen was awakened by her steward bearing breakfast. The two had a familiar, comfortable relationship dating back nearly twenty years, and he was one of the few people who could weather her wrath. "How did our latest young prince fair?" she asked him as he served the light meal.

"Ah, well," he began, making quite a production of pouring juice and arranging pillows.

"Pierre?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in that way all her servants had come to dread.

"Yes, madam, it seems...it seems he departed quite suddenly. At dawn."

The queen set down her spoon. Her ice-blue eyes glinted. "And the princesses?"

"Still in their room, Majesty."

"And their slippers?"

He fidgeted. "Danced through...again," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "Very well," she stated at last, "send out the proclamation again. Surely there s someone in this realm who can discover where my daughters go every night!"

The steward sighed, bowed, and removed her tray. At the door he paused. "Erin, Majesty, if I may be so bold—"

"You may not, Pierre. I know what's best for my daughters. Now go find me someone who can end this madness!"


	2. The Soldier and the Crone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron meets an old woman on the road who tells him about a challenge: the man who discovers where the princesses go to dance every night can marry the princess of his choice.

Aaron Hotchner was tired. That wasn't quite right;  _tired_  was too small a word to fully and accurately encompass what he was. Years of soldiering in the queen's army had left him...weary. Worn. Drained. He couldn't think of the proper word, but he knew it was something beyond tired. He sighed like an old, old man and lowered his aching bones onto a hummock at the edge of the long, dusty road. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out two apples: his meager dinner.

He could see the palace from here. It rose above the landscape like a mirage, shimmering in waves of heat reflected by the sun beating down on the parched landscape. He remembered when the land around the palace had been lush, fertile. That was before. These days, what with the decade-long drought, the war, the queen's out-of-touch way of ruling...they were lucky the whole country hadn't gone up in flames.

Now the war was won - maybe, depending on your point of view. The enemy had retreated, and a peace treaty was being drawn up, but had it really been worth it? The flower of a generation lost...Aaron knew he was lucky to have come through it all alive, but he didn't have it in him to feel blessed.

"Ah, it must be my day of joy!" a cracked, wizened voice said. "Here I am, an old woman wanderin' down the road, an' I round a bend to find a vision of manly beauty all a-sittin on this here hummock. Tell me, young man, would ye have anythin' to spare for a parched old lady on this hot-as-fire day?"

Aaron studied the ancient, bent crone with a critical eye. He was always wary of strangers; the war had taught him that; but this woman looked harmless. "Come sit with me, old mother. I've an apple to spare; it'll quench your thirst and assuage your hunger."

"Good lad, good lad!" she cackled, waddling over to him and slowly, carefully sitting down beside him. He passed her the apple, and she studied it a moment before taking a huge bite and chewing with lip-smacking relish. "Lovely, lovely!" she declared. "A perfect apple on a hot afternoon. Tell me, young man, where ye bound?"

He shined his own apple a moment before taking a careful bite. "Nowhere in particular," he replied around a mouthful of fruit.

"Just back from a-soldierin', hey?" she asked.

"Is it that obvious, old mother? Yes, I am - was - a soldier. But they say the war's over, so now I'm...wandering, I suppose. Like you."

"Aye, aye," she said with a sage nod. "I see ye eyin' yonder castle. Ye thinkin' of succeedin' where fancy princes ha' failed?"

"I'm sorry?" he asked, blinking in surprise.

"Surely ye ain't been a-soldierin' that long, lad! Ye've heard the queen's challenge?"

"I'm sorry, old mother; I've been gone a long time. Pray, enlighten me."

"Ooo, you an yer fancy speech! Yer like to turn an old lady's head. Alright, here it is: her most gracious Majesty Queen Erin wants a man to find out how her daughters wear out their shoes every night when she keeps 'em locked up good an' tight. She's offerin' a girl and a kingdom to the winner."

"A girl and a kingdom? The queen cares that much about shoes?"

The crone shrugged uneven shoulders. "Doubt it. It's more the...wonderin'. She locks those girls in every night to keep 'em safe. It must eat her to know they're gettin' out somehow."

He looked out over the scorched countryside to gaze contemplatively at the palace. "Perhaps I should try it," he mused.

"Hhhm. Perhaps so, young lad. Would you take some advice from an old crone?"

He glanced down at her; smiled. "Any advice would be more than welcome, old mother."

"Listen well, then, for it's important. First, eat or drink nothing those girls give you. They're tricky ones, and they're used to over-inflated princes. Stick to your own food and water."

He nodded quietly, and some part of his mind wondered where her country accent had gone. "And second?" he asked.

"Second," she replied with a grin, "wear this." She reached into her pack and pulled out a dun-colored cloak, much patched and mended.

"Ah, old mother, I thank you, but surely you have greater need of this than I."

She eyed him testily. "Don't be a fool, boy. Watch." She threw the cloak over her desiccated form and disappeared before his eyes. He blinked, astounded, as she swept the cloak off and handed it to him. "Guard it well; the queen would give her eyeteeth to get hold of that."

Aaron stared down at the unassuming patch of cloth. "This is a mighty gift. How can I repay you?"

"You fed me when I was hungry. That's all."

His brow creased. "Surely I can do more? One apple is hardly a feast."

She smiled, and the expression took years off her face. "Become king, lad. Restore this land. That's all I ask."

"I will, old mother; thank you."

"No, lad;  _I_  thank  _you_. Now go. Your princess is waiting."

* * *

Aaron had been nervous about his reception at the palace, but for once his fears were misplaced. The queen had greeted him graciously, introduced him to her lovely daughters, and feasted him well. He'd eaten sparingly, though he couldn't remember when he'd last seen such an abundance of food. Did the queen truly not realize the state of her people, the common men and women who toiled in the baking sun to produce so little for their efforts? The drought and the war were destroying—

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly by a knock at the door. He supposed it was for the best: he could end up brooding all night and not get any closer to solving the mystery he was here to unravel. He opened the heavy oak panel to find the eldest princess, Emily, facing him with a demure smile and a plate of cookies.

"My lord Hotchner," she began, fluttering impossibly long, sooty lashes at him.

"Please, don't call me that. I'm no lord," he interrupted.

It surprised her into looking up at him, and for a fleeting moment he caught a glimpse of the real woman behind the simpering façade she wore. The mask was back so fast he almost wondered if he'd imagined its slip. "Ah, of course," she said, "you're a soldier. What shall I call you, then?"

He considered. "Aaron, I suppose. It's my name." He hadn't been called by his given name in years.

"Aaron," she replied with a slight smile. "Very well, Aaron, I've come to offer you some cookies. You didn't eat much at supper, and you'll need your strength if you're going to follow us tonight."

He regarded her through shrewd eyes. The silence stretched so long between them that she found herself fighting the urge to squirm beneath that penetrating, perceptive gaze. At last, though, he smiled, flashing charming dimples, and took the plate she offered. "Thank you, princess," he said cordially. "Cookies sound wonderful. I'll see you later tonight, I suppose."

Her mouth curved. "Indeed. I have a feeling about you."

"Do you?" he asked, selecting a cookie from the plate. "What sort of feeling?" He pretended to take a bite.

"A  _strong_  one," she nearly purred.

He almost choked on his fake bite of cookie.

She laughed. "Enjoy the snack, Aaron. Goodnight."

"Right. Thank you. Goodnight," he replied awkwardly to her retreating back. As she disappeared around a bend in the corridor, he closed his chamber door and leaned against it. Sighed. These princesses were more troublesome than he'd been expecting. Realizing he had to hurry if he was going to follow her, Aaron tossed the plate aside and pulled the old woman's gift from his pack. Donning it, he hurried down the hall after the princess, determination etched in every fiber.


	3. Dancing

Emily burst through their door to find three sets of eyes staring at her expectantly. She nodded, laughing. "Easy as pie!" she declared. "He took the whole plate, and he started eating one before I even turned around. He'll be out in no time."

"It's almost a shame," Jennifer sighed. "He seems...different...from the rest."

"They're all the same, Jen," Elle chided gently. "They just want the prestige of marrying a princess; the bragging rights that they solved the mystery; and, of course, the crown."

"Not much of a prize these days," Penelope said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Ladies, ladies," Emily interrupted before the old debate could break out, "we're going to be late! I'm not even dressed yet."

Aaron, huddling in the corner and praying that the crone's enchantment would hold, averted his eyes to make a long, involved study of the wall covering. He could hear the swish of expensive silks, the giggling and whispering of excited young women, and, at last, a quiet scraping noise, like that of a door being opened. He turned back toward the princesses to find them disappearing through a passage hidden behind their heavy antique bookcase.

Muffling a curse, he rushed to follow them, only just making it before the bookcase swung closed behind him. The passage was inky, foggy, and he had to keep close to the youngest and her pool of light or risk losing his way. Odd, he reflected; how can one lose one's way in a straight passage?

He realized with a start that they'd somehow gone from a stone corridor to a forest. The trees glittered strangely in the light of the princesses' lanterns, and he saw that they were made of gold and silver. Reaching out, he quickly snapped off a glimmering twig: proof for the queen. They followed a seemingly unmarked path through the metallic wood for so long that he began to wonder if they wore out their shoes simply by walking. He fought the urge to yawn; he was quite tired, and the bed in his chamber had looked soft and inviting.

At last a building began to materialize through the mist. It was gaily lit, and he could hear strains of music floating through the murk toward them. He quickened his pace a bit, only to have to hurriedly check himself when the youngest abruptly stopped directly in front of him.

"Sisters, did you hear that?" she called to her companions.

The other three paused, turned. "What's wrong, Jenny?" Emily asked from the front of the line.

"I just thought...I thought I heard steps."

"It was nothing; just the water," Elle assured her. "Come on, they're waiting!"

She seemed to relax a little, and her face lit in a lovely smile. "You're right. I'm being silly."

"Nothing new there," Penelope remarked with a grin.

The sisters fell back into their line and began the trek again. Aaron followed more cautiously, being careful to keep his steps light and his breath silent.

* * *

Next morning Emily watched him with shrewd dark eyes. He looked worn out, his face set in tired lines, and every few minutes he had to fight off a huge yawn. She glanced at her sisters, fine dark brow raised. "Did you sleep well, Aaron?" she asked carefully.

He looked up from his plate and into four guileless faces. "Like a stone," he admitted ruefully. "I've not had a bed so comfortable in...I can't remember when."

"You've just come from the front?" Penelope asked, her eyes lighting in genuine interest.

"Yes. I've served in your mother's army for the last ten years. The Battle of Ebon Ridge was my final one."

"And the last one of the war, yes?" Jennifer asked quietly. "The enemy surrendered after."

"Indeed," he replied mildly. "But perhaps war isn't the best subject for breakfast conversation. Tell me, ladies: what do you do when you aren't driving your mother to desperation?"

The women exchanged a four-way look, their faces bright with mischief and delight. "We do little else," Elle told him. "It's our primary pleasure."

Emily cleared her throat, reining her younger sisters in. "We read. We play chess. We walk in the garden. We sew. In other words, we engage in all the activities proper for young ladies of our station."

Aaron studied her across the table. Her expression was bland, innocent, but he noticed the gleam in her ochre eyes. "Chess. Perhaps I could interest you in a game, Lady Emily?"

Those dark, knowing eyes flashed. "Absolutely. After breakfast, shall we?"

He bowed his head respectfully. "It would be my pleasure and my honor."

Elle rolled her eyes; Penelope stifled a giggle; Jennifer cast a concerned glance between the man and her eldest sister. Perhaps, this time, Emily had bitten off more than even she could chew.

* * *

"Did you have much opportunity for chess as a soldier, Aaron?" Emily asked, watching him as he studied the board, his comely face creased in a thoughtful frown.

He looked up from the game and into her still face, wondering if she were mocking him. Nothing about her expression said so; she seemed to mean the question sincerely. He concentrated on the crystal and obsidian pieces again and considered how to answer. "Little," he said at last. "My father taught me when I was a boy. I haven't played in years."

Penelope looked up from the stack of correspondences she was answering. "What was it like?" she asked. "The war, I mean."

He glanced at her, eyebrows climbing. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Why?" Elle asked, marking her place in the book she was reading with a long, elegant finger. "You think we can't handle the truth because we're girls?"

Aaron carefully moved his rook to protect his queen. "No," he replied mildly, "your gender has nothing to do with it. It's just most civilians...they have an idea of what war is like, but it's idealized. Dashing knights in armor. Gallant foes. Colorful banners snapping in the breeze. When they hear the truth, they're always...disappointed, I suppose."

"One of us is the future queen," Jennifer pointed out reasonably. "We should know the truth. If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, though, we understand." She cast her colorfully-attired sister a fierce look, and Penelope turned back to her letters with a little frown.

He danced Emily's recently captured pawn across his knuckles like a gypsy in the market would with a coin. "It stinks," he finally told them. "There's no way to describe how bad it smells. Blood, sweat, vomit, shit, and piss. Pardon my language, ladies."

"We don't mind," Emily assured him. "We asked for honesty."

"You're always afraid. Every minute of every day. The fear never leaves. All your food tastes of it. All your dreams echo with it."

Penelope's eyes were wide. " _You_  were afraid?"

He smiled grimly. "Any soldier who says he wasn't afraid is either a fool or a liar." He shrugged; captured Emily's bothersome knight. "That's the gist of it: stink, fear, and death."

"Do you support the peace treaty?" Elle asked.

"I support the end of the war. The rest is politics; I worry little about politics."

"You'll have to start worrying about it if you're going to be king," Emily interjected smoothly.

"If," he replied mildly.

"Aren't you going to solve the mystery?" she challenged, lips curving in a teasing smile.

"Of course I will," he answered easily. "That doesn't mean I'll be king."

"But...that's the prize for solving it," Jennifer reminded him. "One of us and the crown."

He turned to study the pretty blond for a long moment before he swiveled back toward her sister. A small, ironic smile curved his serious mouth. "I'll solve it, lady princesses. Whether or not I accept the prize your mother is offering is another matter."

Emily opened her mouth. Closed it again. She couldn't decide whether or not to be insulted, and the strange twinkle in his dark olive eyes wasn't helping. He held her gaze for several heartbeats; moved his bishop. "Checkmate," he told her before standing, bowing, and making his exit.

Emily's mouth fell open again as, astounded, she watched him go. She looked down at the board; could feel her cheeks going hot. "Impossible man," she muttered, "he actually beat me!"

Her three sisters exchanged silent, knowing glances before each innocently returned to her pastime, leaving the eldest to stare after the soldier with a scowl.


	4. Contrasts

That night when he followed the princesses into their magical land, he stayed to watch the party. The building he'd seen before was like an open-air temple; the roof was supported along each side by large columns, but there were no walls. It was accessed via boat, as it perched on an island in the center of a vast, inky lake. The water lapped the shore gently, serenely, but as Aaron hopped into the last boat, it lurched and bobbed. The youngest and her oarsman gasped, clinging to the vessel's sides, and Aaron held his breath in momentary fear.

Once they reached the temple, the sisters scattered. Each woman had a gentleman she danced with; the princesses' faces were glowing, transformed by happiness. He'd never seen Emily look so…free.

He nearly snorted aloud at the absurdity of that thought; he'd known her for one day. He had no idea what she truly looked like.

But something about the expression on her face as she danced with the stranger made his hardened, cynical soldier's heart twist.

On the way back to the princesses' bedroom near dawn, he plucked a golden apple from one of the trees. The youngest glanced back over her shoulder at the noise, but this time she didn't call out to her sisters.

He wondered at the knowing look in her dark blue eyes.

Back in his own room he gave the bed a long, wary glare. He knew he should take advantage of its comfort while he could; he only had one more night here. But sleep…sleep was not his friend, hadn't been in nearly a decade. He'd told the princesses that, on a battlefield, one's dreams echo with fear.

He'd not exaggerated. On the contrary, he'd only told them half the story. The memories daylight could often obscure came rushing back in stark, bold relief once night fell. Time slowed; stopped. It seemed to him, sometimes, that the only thing left was darkness.

* * *

The next day, after a restless, interminable night, Jennifer invited him for a stroll in the palace's butterfly garden. It was tucked into a quiet corner of the palace's main grounds, nestled against the palace walls and far from prying outside eyes. "This is my personal project," she explained as they stepped beneath an arbor and into a wonderland of flowers and fluttering wings. "I love butterflies."

He studied one with brilliant blue markings as it perched on a rose. "They're carrion eaters, you know."

She shrugged, her face not losing the angelic glow that graced it. "Someone has to clean up the world's messes. It might as well be wrapped in a pretty package."

His face creased in a smile. "Excellent point, your grace. I suppose that's what you would do if you were queen, hm? Clean up the messes and look beautiful doing it?"

She gave him a shrewd look. Flattery was not his usual currency. "Am I who would you choose? If you solve the mystery, I mean."

"Ah, Princess Jennifer…" He felt…dumbfounded. How to respond to her seemingly innocuous question? And why would someone so young and innocent want to be saddled with someone as scarred and damaged as he?

"Never mind," she said, waving a small hand to brush it aside. "You should know that Emily isn't as hard as she pretends to be."

He blinked at her in silent astonishment. This woman was full of surprises, and he realized he had probably misjudged her. "Emily?" he echoed blankly.

"She finds you…intriguing. Do you know, of all the men who've come here to figure out where we dance, you're the first one to ever beat her at chess?"

"Hhmm," he replied mildly. He watched her as she reached out to stroke a flower's vivid, velvety petals. Her face was soft, warm, but as lovely as she was, he knew she wouldn't be his choice. "What is it your sister fears so much?" he asked at last.

"Interesting question," she replied quietly. "I think that's something you'll have to figure out for yourself." She hesitated, wondering how much more she should say. Finally, "I can tell you what she wants, though."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Freedom," she answered instantly, an undercurrent of steel running through her gentle voice. "We're prisoners here. Mother locks us into our room at night. We're shut off from the outside world. We haven't been out of this palace since Father died."

"Is that why you dance?" he asked quietly, his dark eyes intense, penetrating.

Her lips curved. "When we dance, we're free. But you know that already." She met his gaze squarely, an amused glint lighting her blue eyes. "I know it was you I heard last night. You took something."

His face creased. He made an intense study of a nearby butterfly house. "An apple," he admitted. "How did you know? You couldn't see me, could you?"

"No," she said, shaking her golden head, "you must have powerful friends to create such an enchantment. I couldn't see you, but I could smell you."

"Smell me? Do I stink?" That would be unfortunate.

She laughed like a tinkling of bells. "Not at all. But you definitely smell different than my sisters."

"Ah, well." He cleared his throat, looking awkward for the first time since she'd met him. "Do the others know?"

"No; I haven't told them. I want you to win, Aaron. I want you to change this place, make it better."

He studied her carefully; he felt slightly overwhelmed by the faith she seemed to have in him after so short an acquaintance. "I'll do what I can, lady."

"Do," she urged him. "Please do."

* * *

"Pssst!"

Aaron paused, wondering if he'd heard correctly. He was on his way from Jennifer's butterfly garden to his own chamber to take some rest – chasing after four wayward princesses was extremely tiring work – when the whisper came from…well, it seemed as though the sound emanated from a nearby tapestry. Considering all that he'd seen since arriving at the palace, he supposed he shouldn't be terribly surprised that the tapestries could talk. He checked the length of the corridor to make sure it was empty before stepping closer to the woven panel. "Did you just 'pssst' me?" he whispered.

The tapestry giggled. "No, silly, I did!" The pastoral scene was pushed aside to reveal Penelope, blindingly attired as usual, with an impish grin on her face. She was standing in some sort of hidden doorway; this palace seemed to be chock full of them.

"What are you doing behind the tapestry?" he asked her, frowning in consternation.

"Come on," she invited, "I'll show you." She beckoned, and after another moment's hesitation, he followed her.

The doorway opened into an untidy sort of study. There were books, papers, maps, and scrolls littered everywhere. On one wall she'd tacked a huge map of the world with tick marks indicating…he stepped closer, squinted. It seemed as though each tick corresponded to a major battle of the war. "What is this place?" he asked at last, turning to take in the princess surrounded by her overload of information.

"It's my cubby," she told him. "All of this stuff used to be in Father's office; I smuggled it out before Mother could have it destroyed."

His face creased in a deep frown. "Why would your mother destroy your father's papers? How could she rule without knowing what he knew?"

A pale brow rose. "There's the rub, aye?"

He selected a page at random and skimmed it, his eyes growing wider as he read. "Annual rainfall reports. One can see the approaching drought in this." He chose another; scowled. "From one of our spies posted abroad…I don't understand."

Penelope gently took the papers from him, her face reflecting his distress in furrowed lines. "Father was sending a peace delegation, did you know? He saw the trouble brewing…he was going to offer one of us to their prince in hopes it would smooth things over. He died two months before they were to leave."

"Did your mother know of his plans?"

She looked away; made a show of tidying a stack of letters. "Perhaps. I don't know for certain either way. Surely he would have discussed with her the impending marriage of one of their daughters."

"Surely," he agreed grimly. "What would your mother have stood to gain by starting a war?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. I don't know. I don't pretend to understand our mother."

"Why have you collected all of this?" he wanted to know.

"It's important. If you're to be king you need to know it. We have peace now, so they say, but it's fragile. We need someone who can make it strong, lasting. You're a soldier; you told us the truth about the war; now I'm telling you what truths I know."

"I told you yesterday, Penelope; I don't have much interest in being king."

"This isn't about what  _interests_  you!" she cried. She paused; took a deep breath to gather herself. "You can't come here and give us hope only to desert us when it matters most. That isn't fair. If you've no intention of claiming your prize, you should leave now."

He frowned; turned again to study the large world map marking moments in history that echoed so darkly in his own memories. "Tell me, lady: why did your mother conceive of this strange little contest?"

"Too many daughters and too little dowry, perhaps?"

"It was a serious question."

He heard her pull another long breath; let it out slowly. "Our mother likes to be in control. She hates not knowing. At the same time, she's…afraid. Since father's death, she's let her fear rule her. I think that's why she's turned her back on the outside world, and why she keeps us as virtual prisoners here. This contest is her way of seeking the truth without really seeking it at all."

"She thinks we're doomed to fail."

"Precisely. And so far, she's been right."

"Hhmm," he commented mildly. He turned to her, his head cocked thoughtfully. "I've a question for you, princess." He pointed to a spot on the map. "Why is this country outlined in red? I've never even heard of it."

Her cheeks flamed, and she looked away, fidgeting nervously. "I, um. It has a nice name. And they're the world's largest producer of dye."

"Dye?" he questioned, brows drawing together.

"I like colorful things. They cheer me up. I know that sounds childish and ridiculous—"

"No," he interrupted gently, "not at all. Your outsides reflect your insides; it's rare to meet a person one can trust on sight."

A smile dawned on her face. "Jennifer and I trusted you on sight," she admitted.

"And your other sisters?"

"They don't trust anyone, ever. It's just policy."

"A shame," mused the man who saw so much. "You know, your grace, you've got it wrong."

"Have I?" she asked, befuddlement darkening her eyes. "How so?"

"Our enemy is the largest producer of dyes. This country," he pointed to the one outlined in red, "has little more to its name than…well, its name." Her cheeks reddened again, and he wondered what in this far away little land held her so enthralled.


	5. What the Soldier Saw

"You can't really be serious, Emily!" Elle scoffed at her elder sister as they strolled one of the palace's many corridors. "He's just another one of Mother's silly hopefuls. I admit he's a refreshing change from the usual overstuffed, peacocking princes we get, but I think she's just trying a different tactic."

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you," Emily replied, shaking her head in exasperation.

"You know I've always respected your judgment, but I think you're wrong this time."

"You're so quick to judge. Did you even give him a chance?"

"I don't have to. He'll be gone tomorrow just like the rest of them."

Emily paused, crossing her arms over her chest. "When did you get so angry, Eleanor?"

The younger sister seemed to stagger; her face lost all its color as the blood drained from it; her lips tightened into a thin, sharp line. No one, ever, called her by her full name except their father. The word had been unofficially banned from the palace lexicon since his death. "It's  _Elle_ ," she snapped back.

Emily's faced softened; she reached out a hand toward her sister. "I'm sorry, sweetheart; that was unkind. I just…I miss the way you were before."

"I miss the way  _everything_  was before," she muttered.

The elder sister shook her head ruefully. "So do I, little sister."

"Is that what you think he'll do? Restore things to the way they were?" she asked, voice laced with accusation and suspicion…and maybe a tiny tremble of longing.

"No, love; there's no going back to the way things were. We both know that. I just think…maybe…he could…make a difference. Is that so terribly hard to believe?"

Elle sighed; ran long-fingered hands through her dark hair. "I don't know, Emily. I'm just so tired of being disappointed."

"So am I." She put a comforting arm around her sister's waist. "But maybe, just this once, we could have a bit of faith."

"That's in short supply around here." She frowned thoughtfully, and after a moment, "What's changed your mind about him? You felt the same as me not so long ago."

Emily looked away. "Ah, well…I…I had Penny get me his war record."

"What!?" Elle nearly shrieked. "How did Pen get hold of information like that?"

She shrugged, a smile curving her well-formed mouth. "You know Pen: she has spies everywhere. Apparently her friend Morgan served with him at some point; he gave her an earful, so to speak." She tugged at her sister, urging her to continue their journey.

Elle's brow creased as she walked. "Morgan? Isn't that—"

"The very same. Why do you think he hit the road so fast once he realized he'd failed?"

"What is Pen doing talking to a foreign prince who failed Mother's silly test?"

"I don't know, but apparently…"

Their voices faded as they rounded a corner, and Aaron let out the breath he'd been holding. Pushing back the tapestry, he stepped out into the empty hallway and stared after the sisters with a deep, contemplative frown.

* * *

He wasn't terribly surprised when, later that night, the person knocking on his door proved to be Elle. He smiled at her a bit warily, and his perceptive gaze took note of the tightness around her mouth; the slight tremble of hands that held the tray.

"I'm on nightcap duty this time," she told him, her voice full of false cheer.

He nodded resignedly. "Of course. Won't you come in?"

She looked briefly scandalized, and he couldn't tell if it was put on or not. "A lady does not enter a gentleman's private quarters unchaperoned. Surely you know that."

"No, actually, I guess I missed that day at etiquette school. Too busy fighting for your mother's cause and all," he replied acerbically.

"There's no reason to be rude," she said. "I didn't mean…" She looked momentarily lost for words. "Do you want the wine or not?" she spit out.

He raised a brow at her and took the cup she offered. He quaffed it in four long, deep gulps and set it back on the tray, tipping it on to its side so she'd see its emptiness. "Thank you, princess," he said with an ironic little bow. "I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby tonight."

Her dark eyes narrowed in haughty suspicion. "You know, just because my sisters think you're so great doesn't mean I do. I don't trust you, and it's going to take more than transparent charm to change my mind."

He met her glare blandly. "You shouldn't trust me, my lady. You know nothing about me."

If she were surprised by his response, it didn't show on her face. "And you know nothing about us, or the life we have here."

"I know more than you think," he replied evenly.

"Somehow I doubt that."

His brows rose, and the lines around his mouth became more pronounced. "I know your youngest sister loves butterflies because they remind her that while life is fleeting, it's also beautiful. She envies their freedom, and she's created a haven for them here so that they'll  _choose_  to stay: it's a choice she's denied, of course. She doesn't remember your father as well as the rest of you, and it's like a hole in her heart that she tries to fill with beauty.

"I know Penelope has more contacts in the world outside these walls than any of you suspect. I know she's in love with a man from a tiny, prettily named country far from here, a man who came for your mother's test and failed. Her loyalties are torn; she loves him, but she let you play your little games with him, and now she feels like she's lost her chance.

"I know that you mistrust everyone on principle, but that it didn't used to be that way. You used to laugh. You used to live every day like it was your last; not like now, when your life feels like a prison sentence. Your father's death is as fresh to you as though it happened yesterday, and you don't let anyone call you by your full name because every time it's uttered, you remember exactly what you've lost.

"I know Emily wishes she could be close to your mother the way she once was. She looks out for all of you the best she can, and this sabotage of your mother's contestants was her idea. She doesn't trust, either, but not because she's worried about herself: it's you and your sisters she worries about, because she feels like your mother doesn't anymore.

"I know your mother loves you, contrary to all appearances. She's lost and confused and she doesn't know how to handle ruling her country or her family without the man she loved so much." He took a long breath. Then, "And I know why you dance, Elle."

She blinked, stunned, and her gaze was blurry with unshed tears. His barrage of words had felt like a tiny thousand arrows to her soul. "You know about the sleeping potion?" she finally managed.

He flashed a brief, wry smile. "Yes. Each night I've been here one of your charming sisters has shown up at my door to offer me a bedtime snack. I may have skipped a few etiquette classes, but that hardly seems appropriate."

"Why did you drink it?" she rasped.

"I'm tired. I want to sleep. I figured I might as well just take your damn wine and save myself a lot of effort."

At last her head came up, and her eyes met his. "I wish you'd never come here," she told him in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

"I might wish the same thing, my lady. It remains to be seen." He wavered a little, and a strong hand darted out to grab the doorjamb. "Well, it seems you brew strong. I should go to bed before I keel over. Goodnight, princess; enjoy your dance." He bowed with a little less precision than usual before closing in the door in her astounded, grief-etched face.


	6. What the Princess Learned

Next morning Aaron awoke from the first restful sleep he'd had in years to find buttery yellow sunlight streaming through his window to paint fanciful patterns on the rug. He stretched, yawned, and frowned. Today was his last morning. He would soon be summoned before the queen to present his report, and he would be offered one of her daughters and the crown as his reward.

He sighed and pulled himself from the large, comfortable bed. It was a decision most men would welcome, but strangely he found himself dreading it. He didn't want the responsibility of ruling this beleaguered land, no matter what he'd promised the old woman on the road. He wanted a simple home and a simple family and a simple life.

"Aaron, old man," he muttered, "your life hasn't been simple in a long, long time."

He dressed and packed quickly, hoping he'd have time to grab a bite of breakfast before the queen's summons, and hurried to the morning room with an urgent, purposeful stride. The sight of Princess Emily already at the table, the early sun teasing out the hidden fires in her raven hair, brought him up short. She glanced up, and her face slowly eased into a smile. "Aaron," she greeted warmly, "join me, won't you?"

He hastily gathered himself and sketched a brief bow. "Good morning, your grace. I just came for a quick bite before my audience with your lady mother." He took the seat across from her and poured a glass of juice; selected a warm roll from the basket she offered. He couldn't help but notice the papers strewn across the table next to her, and he nodded toward them. "A little light morning reading?"

She gave the documents a short glance. "From my sister."

"Ah…yes, the lady Penelope showed me her collection yesterday."

Emily regarded him with a raised brow. "I don't think she showed you these." She leafed through the stack closest to her elbow and selected a page at random. "You've been a solider a long time, Aaron," she offered after studying it a moment.

He froze, then slowly lowered his butter knife and bit of roll to the delicately painted plate. "Yes. But you knew that already."

"I did," she agreed with a small nod. "But there are quite a few things I didn't know. You're highly decorated."

His face smoothed even further, though she wondered how that were possible. "I only did my duty, your grace. I took care of my men because they mattered to me, and they mattered to each other."

She flipped another page, and her hand hovered over it a heartbeat before falling to rest upon it. He had a feeling he knew the contents of that page just from the expression on her clear, lovely face. "You were married," she said softly.

He grimaced; began buttering the bread again as he refused to meet her steady gaze. "I don't see how that is any of your business. Your grace."

"She was killed in a border raid five years ago. You had been discharged, but after her death you reenlisted. Why?" Her tone was gentle, compassionate, but somehow that just made it worse.

He sighed and gave up all pretense of breakfast. His late wife's face flashed across his mind's eye. He could still remember her scent – like wildflowers and honey and baking – and the way the sun glinted off her hair like polished amber. It was as though the princesses' careful questions had opened a floodgate of memory. He raised shaking hands to his face to try to block out the images. Her golden hair stained red with blood. Her beautiful face contorted in fear and pain. Her sparkling, mischievous eyes dulled by death.

"I'm sorry," Emily was murmuring. "I shouldn't have said anything; it was thoughtless." He hadn't noticed her move, but the next thing he knew her arm was going around his shoulders and he was leaning against her, enveloped in her warmth and her scent, so similar yet so very, very different from Haley's. If Haley had been the sun, this woman was the moon, with all the night mysteries the comparison implied.

"There was nothing left for me after," he told her, voice muffled by the palms still pressed against his face. "She was gone, and I was alone. I was a fool to think I could ever have peace."

"No, no," Emily soothed, long fingers slipping through his short hair. "You weren't a fool, Aaron; you were hopeful. There's a difference. This stupid war has cost us all so much, but now we have a chance to rebuild, to start fresh."

He looked up at her, his face a tragic mask. "I don't know if I have any more fresh starts left in me," he admitted quietly.

She smiled like a candle in a dark room. "Maybe not alone, but with help—"

They were both startled by the sound of a throat being cleared. "Ah, my lady, Master Hotchner, please forgive the intrusion. Her most gracious Majesty will see you now." Pierre bowed perfectly, and his smooth face gave away nothing.

Emily pulled away, gaining her feet in a swift, graceful movement. Aaron rose a bit more awkwardly, and he watched the princess as she began to gather the scattered sheets. "Here, let me," he offered, taking them from her and quickly assembling the rest of the pile. "I think I'll take them with me."

"To my mother?" the princess asked, midnight eyes wide.

"To your mother. It's time someone talked some sense into her." He bowed low over the princess' hand. "Thank you, lady Emily. Your courage and your honor are inspiring."

Before she could find words, he was gone, and she was left to stare after him with the contents of her heart written across her face for anyone to read.

 

* * *

Hours later Emily stormed into her mother's study without knocking only to be brought up short by the sight that met her eyes. The queen sat in a chair by the fire, her face scored by deep lines as her dazed eyes stared into, but didn't see, the flickering flames. "Mother?" she asked softly. "Mother, what's wrong? Where's Aaron?" She had been pacing the corridors, anxiously awaiting the outcome of his audience, but impatience had finally gotten the better of her.

The queen didn't reply. Emily made a quick scan of the room; took note of the silver twig and golden apple on the table by her mother's elbow; the familiar papers strewn across her lap. "Oh," she whispered, the realization cutting with a honed razor's edge, "he's gone."

"Yes, daughter," the queen finally said, "he's gone. They all leave in the end, don't they?"

"But, Mother," she said almost desperately, "he figured it out. I thought…I…I don't understand. Why did he go?"

She raised her eyes to meet her daughter's thunderous gaze. "I don't know, dear," she replied vaguely.

"You don't know? You  _don't know_?! Mother, you're the queen! He can't leave without your permission!"

The queen reached out and ran a finger along the apple's glittering curve. "He told me you and your sisters were using a secret passage in your bedroom to access some sort of mystical land. He said you danced there all night with young men. Is that true, Emily?"

She blinked. "Yes, Mother. Where else does one acquire golden fruit?"

"Don't be  _glib_ with me, Emily. I just want to know why you did it."

"I want to know where Aaron is."

She gave her daughter a long, level stare. "Why, Emily?"

The eldest threw up her hands in frustration. "Why do you think, Mother? You keep us trapped here! We're never allowed outside; you lock us in at night like prisoners. We just wanted a taste of something…different."

"So you're blaming me?" she asked wearily.

Emily sighed and knelt before her mother. "I'm not  _blaming_  you. I just wish you would realize we're not children. We don't need protecting anymore."

The queen ran a trembling hand over her daughter's lovely face. "You're my girls; you'll always need protecting."

"You couldn't have saved him, Mother," Emily whispered, her own heart constricting at the pain and memory she saw etched on her mother's face.

Her mother's eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again the princess could see a glint of tears. "Your young man left by the south road."

The princess' mouth hung open a moment before she snapped her jaw closed again. "He's not…I just…" She gave up with a sigh. "The south road. Thank you, Mother."

The queen watched her daughter rush from the room with a strange mixture of mourning and pride filling her heart. Her husband was dead; her daughters despised her; and now Emily was chasing after the man she loved as she, Erin, had once chased after their father. Time passes; the world comes full circle. She sighed wistfully and turned her eyes back to the stack of reports the young, angry soldier had shoved at her before his own hasty exit.


	7. Happily Ever After

After his rather poorly-executed audience with the queen, Aaron had stormed from the palace in an angry haze. Now he found himself at the spot where he'd met the old woman three days earlier. It seemed like a lifetime ago, truly told. He stood staring at the palace for several heartbeats before he let his gaze drift to take in the parched fields, the desiccated orchards. He wondered if anyone could bring life back to this land. He hoped the queen would wake up from her fog of grief and fear. He wished…his thoughts trailed off as he noticed the cloud of dust on the road.

It was a lone rider, tall but slight, with dark hair left to stream out behind her. His mouth curved in a smile as he settled down to wait. "This should be interesting," he murmured.

Emily was riding hell-for-leather, and she almost passed him. She reined in at the last minute; her horse stopped on a dime. Aaron spared a moment to be impressed at the well-trained, beautifully bred animal before he squinted up at the princess silhouetted by the sun. "My lady Emily," he greeted her cordially.

"Don't you 'lady Emily' me," she snapped. She dismounted with impossible grace and began tugging off her leather riding gloves. "I know you've had a tough life, Aaron. I know that this kingdom isn't the greatest prize in the world. I know my sisters and I didn't exactly make the best impression, but you didn't have to just  _leave_! How could you!? You might be a great many things, not all of them good, but you never seemed like a coward.

"You came into our home, you learned things about us that we don't tell anyone, you…you…gained our…affection and our…our…trust, and then you just skulked away!" She pointed an accusing finger in his face. " _Skulked_!" she repeated furiously. "You could have at least told us that the idea of marrying one of us made you quake in your perfectly-polished boots."

"Dear lady Emily, if you'd just let me explain—"

"Explain!?" she interrupted. "Explain what? That there's a drought? That we're in debt up to our eyeballs? That we've burned through all of our neighbors' good will by engaging in a ridiculous war for the last ten years? That the new peace is tenuous at best, and it'll need a strong and steady hand to keep it? You don't think I know all of that? I am my mother's eldest daughter, and one day I'll be queen. I intend to be a good one."

"You'll be a splendid queen," he agreed quietly.

"Yes, and I'll be a queen with no king if that's what it takes!"

"That would be a shame, princess."

She whirled away in wordless fury. His apparent condescension seemed ridiculously cruel and unnecessary; she'd never thought he had it in him. At least she'd found out now, before…before…before what? Before nothing. He was leaving, and she shouldn't let it surprise her.

The silence lengthened, and he turned to study the uninspiring vista once again. "I was contemplating dams."

"What a coincidence," she grumbled. "I was damning you."

He cleared his throat to hide amusement. "I just mean…I didn't leave, Emily. I came up here because this hill has the best view."

She went still as the meaning of his words registered, then slowly swiveled to face him. "What are you talking about?" she asked, dark eyes narrow. "Mother said—"

"Ah, well, I don't think I'm your mother's favorite person at the moment. I was rather harsh with her. Probably wasn't the best way to treat one's future mother-in-law."

Her face went blank. "Future mother-in-law?" she parroted.

"Emily," he said softly, stepping toward her and cupping her face in his large, rough hands, "you're right about me. You're right about this kingdom. But I was thinking…I'm not afraid of a challenge if you aren't."

Midnight eyes fogged and the stern line of her mouth softened. She couldn't be hearing him right; there had to be some mistake. "I don't understand, Aaron. What are you saying?"

"The idea of marrying you  _does_  make me quake in my perfectly-polished boots. You've a temper on you, Emily, and you're not afraid to show it. You've a sharp, quick mind, and a cutting sense of humor. You're stubborn and you're dedicated and you're fierce. I've never met another woman like you, and now that I know you, I know no other woman will do for me."

"I…what?" Her face creased and she pulled back; pushed his hands away. "Is that your idea of a proposal? You're scared of me? No one else will do?! Why don't you just pick up that flea-ridden bag of yours and be on your way, because we've no need of you around here!"

"Very well," he replied. He lifted his bag (it was completely free of fleas, thank you) and reached inside. His hand emerged clutching a perfect red apple, and he tossed it to her; in her astonishment she caught it without thinking. "I love you, Emily. I just met you, but there are some things a body just knows."

She swallowed; stared down at the fruit in her hand. A blush began to rise on her cheeks. She looked back up at him; met his piercing gaze with her own challenging one. "An apple," she said in an almost-question.

"A promise," he explained. "That apple wasn't grown here, but one day we'll grow them again. We'll make this land what it once was. It won't be easy, but nothing worth it is."

"You didn't leave," she whispered after a moment.

"No," he said quietly, stepping to her again.

"You love me."

"Yes."

A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away impatiently. "Yes," she echoed in a choked whisper.

" _Yes_ …what?" he asked, dimples emerging as a grin began to unfurl across his face.

" _Yes_  I'll marry you, you impossible man.  _Yes_  I love you."

He pulled her to him, and as their lips met a soft, steady rain began falling from a previously clear sky. The sudden shower limned the world in dream-like silver, and both soldier and princess knew it was a beautiful promise of things to come. They pulled apart, laughing, and reveled in the joy of new beginnings.

* * *

The boy had fallen asleep a little over half way through the story, but the father had continued telling it. Now he gently settled his son into bed and pulled the blankets over him. He rested a strong hand on the soft little cheek a moment, his face warmed by a gentle, glowing smile. The boy's mother stepped out of the shadows where he'd seen her lurking and into the small pool of light cast by the single lamp. "Still his favorite story, I see," she said softly.

"Mine, too," the man told her, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her with an easy, adoring familiarity.

"I think the soldier got the best end of that particular deal," she said, amusement glinting in her ochre eyes.

"I don't know; the princess did pretty well for herself, too."

She laughed quietly and tossed him an apple from the bowl kept full of them. "I think they both did well. Come on, soldier mine; let's go to bed."

"As my queen commands," he replied with a roguish grin and an exaggerated bow. He took a large bite of the fresh fruit and followed her low, warm laughter from the room where their son slept the sweet, peaceful sleep of the happily innocent.


End file.
